We’re comfortably ensconced in Mom’s high-rise in Minneapolis.  We have our own little guest apartment.  My husband likes to hang out by the pool hoping to see Al Franken (he lives in the complex but around the corner, in the shmancy townhouses).  This is funny since my husband is not a Democrat in any way.   (He has plenty of other good points, does my husband).

I found a way out from under my dad’s gifts, which he has always asked me to wrap for him.  (Not my OWN gifts, he probably has those done at the store).  Funny how if you do something obnoxious once, it’s just that irritating thing you did, but if you do it every year it turns into a tradition.  I asked my husband to wrap them and he actually seems not to mind.  He’s a good wrapper.

I’m doing sort of well after Wednesday’s meltdown.  I’m feeling the love from friends and Christmas is fun.  In feeling the love, I heard from several women, both on- and offline, that having a baby doesn’t necessarily mute the occasional cry of the heart that we feel.  The physical infertility can end but the heart infertility goes on, I guess.  I want to file this ("I’ll Forget This Pain") in the denial file (mine is a big file, more like a box) next to "But My Children Will Be Perfect," and "I’ll Never Be One of THOSE Pregnant People."  But what I am hearing says different; it sounds like I’ll still get that little stab and I can see why.  Grieving the lack of children is a part that can be fixed, but the broken dreams and years of pain and trauma probably can’t be erased. 

Sigh.  Fabulous.

Anyway, by the time we get done here it’ll be time to start my cycle for real.  I’m parked on 10 units of Lupron for awhile since my ovaries are not giving up without a fight.  I already feel sad, so what’s a little more Lupron?  But I’m not sad all the time so that’s not so bad.  There is a nice gym here and an indoor pool, so a little bit of sweat will do me good.